<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Comedy of Errors by morrnrhu64</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717290">A Comedy of Errors</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrnrhu64/pseuds/morrnrhu64'>morrnrhu64</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Established Relationship, Everyone Has Issues, Fluff, Gratuitous Gàidhlig, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, I am terrible at tagging, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pro Mage, Romance, Secrets, The Inquisitor has Issues, and detective dorian is on the case, bard!inquisitor, calum's got a secret, fuck the chantry, fuck the templars, gratuitous Gaelic, it ends about as well as you'd expect, lots of misunderstandings, mage positive, or if u prefer, shameless use of folk music for my own purposes, there is a chance that i do not understand how 5+1 fics work, with apologies to my ancestors, yes i create my characters out of song lyrics WE EXIST</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:08:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrnrhu64/pseuds/morrnrhu64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The inquisitor has got a secret, and Dorian is determined to find out what it is. Now if only his own pesky issues would stop getting in the way...</p><p>(M!Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus, established relationship and many misunderstandings.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Inquisitor/Dorian, Male Inquisitor/Dorian, Male Rogue Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus, Male Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Comedy of Errors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><span class="small"><span class="small">hhhhhh god I can't believe this is finally DONE, it's the longest fucking thing i've ever written I've been working on it for nearly a <i>month</i> now but I think I'm finally happy with it.</span></span> Quick note: I used a bit of Gàidhlig (that's Scottish Gaelic, if you never heard of it before) in this fic <strike>because I miss having someone to gab with</strike> because I love traditional music so much that I literally base some of my characters on a few song lyrics, and since it's a part of them it's also...a part of their story?? so i just wanted to write about that. bit weird, i know, but i guess i really only wrote this for myself ha ha. <span class="small">Calum's entire character is built on a couple lines from a waulking song called <i>'Hè Mo Leannan, Hò Mo Leannan'</i>, this bit: <i>'S e mo leannan gille Calum/...am fear donn a' thogadh fonn anns an taigh-chiùil'</i> which basically means 'my boyfriend is the lad Calum, the brown-haired man who sings in the pub.' Riveting stuff, i know ha ha.</span> But i have decided to let myself have this bit of self-indulgence, in light of how terrible this year has been for me :'-D<br/>I've put translations in the end notes.<br/>Thanks for reading, I hope you'll enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calum Trevelyan was hiding something.  Of this, Dorian Pavus was quite certain.  </p><p>Surely all of the suspicious behaviour--the long, thoughtful stares out at the mountains, the bouts of pacing well into the night, the anxiously shuffled papers and countless occasions of opening his mouth to speak, thinking better of it, and closing his mouth again--these <em>must</em> signs of a burdened conscience.  </p><p>Not to mention the half-asked questions and aborted comments!</p><p>'Dorian, do you--och, never mind.'</p><p>'If I were to--no, no, forget it. It's nothing.'</p><p>'D'ye think that--ah. No. It's... not important.'</p><p>It was driving Dorian <em>mad</em>.  Just what Calum was hiding, or why he was hiding it, were complete mysteries to Skyhold's resident rebellious archivist--<em>for now</em>.  But Dorian intended to find out, even if he had to seduce it out of the poor, unsuspecting inquisitor.</p><p>In fact, that was <em>exactly</em> what he planned to do.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>Tableau the First:</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Picture, if possible, the aforementioned unsuspecting inquisitor in his quarters, hurriedly scribbling a note while sat at his desk.  Aside from the occasional furtive glance toward the bed, where Dorian was <em>trying</em> to lounge enticingly, he had eyes only for his task.  It was a simple matter, then, for Dorian to slink out from between the sheets, drape himself in Calum's deep green dressing gown (a concession, hard-won, but a testament to progress made), and sneak up behind the inquisitor to blow on his ear.</p><p>'Ack! <em>Sguir dheth!</em>' was Calum's less-than-romantic reply, arms flinging upward in surprise. For a second or two, Dorian could perceive the messily scrawled note, but immediately lost sight of it again as he attempted to avoid a severe head-bonking from his startled lover. Unfortunately, Calum recovered almost instantly, and his roguish dexterity allowed him to conceal his secret missive before Dorian could actually read any of the words. </p><p>'Wh--did you just blow into my ear?' Calum asked, all wide-eyed astonishment. 'Why would you do that? Does that <em>mean</em> something?'</p><p>Dorian sighed in the long-suffering manner he was wont to do in the presence of his amatus. </p><p>'Perhaps this is one of those cultural differences we keep discovering about each other.'</p><p>'Still not letting go of the fish thing, then?'</p><p>'Never. And while I agree with you as to the culinary value of pineapple and the general delinquency of today's youth, your politics leave something to be desired.'</p><p>'You're just bitter 'cause you didn't think anyone could hate the chantry more than you,' Calum boasted. 'And you can tell your maker to come fight me anytime, anywhere--I'll beat his arse and laugh about it.'</p><p>At that point, it was necessary to stop his blaspheming mouth with a kiss, lest it call down immediate divine retribution.  And, as they say, one thing led to another, and...</p><p>Well, Dorian never <em>did</em> manage to get his hands on that note.  But though his goal had not been achieved, it would be terribly dishonest to call that evening anything less than satisfying.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tableau the Second:</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Picture the tavern, full of loud talking, louder laughter, and the loudest outfit any bard had ever worn.  Truly, Dorian could not understand <em>who</em> had hired Maryden or why.  She was nice enough, her performances were adequate, but she had no sense when it came to clothing.  That, and that <em>only</em>, was Dorian's criticism of her.  It had nothing whatsoever to do with the <em>objective fact</em> that Calum was a better singer and musician, and that Dorian would rather listen to him than anyone else.</p><p>Anyway.</p><p>Dorian sat by Calum's side, as always, enduring the occasional elbow to the ribs as the inquisitor gesticulated wildly in his efforts to convey the size of his quarry in a probably fabricated tale that had Blackwall, Sera, and the Iron Bull enthralled.</p><p>'...And I swear, I <em>swear</em> to you, it was the size of a mabari hound! Literally, physically the size of a mabari hound, and my brothers' hunting dogs took one look at it and ran for home. Aye, so they did! And it were a wise decision, for if I'd known just how awful a nug could smell, I would've been running with 'em!'</p><p>'I wonder if giant nugs taste different than regular nugs,' the Iron Bull mused. 'They're not my favourite, but a little braising, a little pepper... damn, I'm hungry again.' He frowned comically at his empty tankard.</p><p>Calum pushed his own unfinished drink across the table as an offering, and continued his story. </p><p>'Well, I would've tried to find out, but our horses were well spooked, and I only missed being thrown 'cause I had got my foot all twisted in the stirrup. My brothers had to help me before my leg could get torn from the socket, and by the time I was freed the nug was gone. They laughed at me all the way home, the bastards! I spent the rest of the day sulking!'</p><p>He grinned, revelling in the self-deprecation, and turned to look at Dorian as if he needed to know his mirth was shared to be able to truly enjoy it.  Dorian did his best to return the expression. It was no easy task to undo the grooming of a lifetime, after all--but he was, albeit slowly, getting used to the idea that he didn't have to put on a show all of the time.  That he could, if he wanted, share a moment of sincerity with the person who had become something of an anchor for him in the chaos of the world, a safe harbour against all adversity--a port in a storm, if you will.  It was very odd to be on the receiving end of such a dynamic.  Very odd, indeed, but not altogether bad.</p><p>Calum's eyes crinkled at the corners, so Dorian had to look away and hide in his drink to avoid the smirk that was undoubtedly rendering Sera's face unrecognisable. <em>Must</em> she be so smug? Dorian almost regretted admitting certain things to her, but she was only willing to steal Cassandra's smutty novels for him if he met her demands.</p><p>'Ach, that was a long time ago.  Things have changed, haven't they?  And not all for the better.  Anyway--I'll go fetch us another round,' Calum declared, mercifully drawing the others' attention to himself. He enlisted Blackwall to help him carry, while the Iron Bull took the chance to escape in hopes of raiding the kitchen, despite the risk of facing the cook's wrath.</p><p>Thus Sera and Dorian were left alone, and so he made no delays in asking after their... <em>business</em>.</p><p>'Were you able to find it?' Dorian asked, keeping an eye on the inquisitor across the room for the purposes of stealth and <em>not ogling</em>.</p><p>'Yeah,' said Sera, puffing out her cheeks. 'Well, sort of. Look, he's got a lot of papers on his desk, all right? Some of 'em all smudge-y and smear-y like you said, some of 'em all nice and flowery. Dunno where he pulls all that shite from--probably stole it off a book or something.'</p><p>'I think Josephine helps him,' Dorian said dismissively, 'but the note--the folded over one, you were able to, ahem, retrieve it?'</p><p>Sera shrugged and plucked the slightly crumpled paper out of her shirt. </p><p>'Here it is,' she said, handing it over. 'Fat lot of good it'll do, though. The words are all stupid, I can't even read it.'</p><p>True to her word, the note bore mostly scribbles and cross-outs, with no names, no direction, and what remained intact was mostly in a foreign language that he did not recognise.  The only intelligible word that stood out was <em>Skyhold</em>, but that didn't seem terribly useful--it could have been an encrypted grocery list, for all he knew.</p><p>'Hm,' said Dorian, pursing his lips. 'I'll need a new plan, then. Pity. Still, I appreciate your efforts, Sera. The candied dates are in the usual spot.'  He slipped the note into his pocket, to be returned to the inquisitor's desk at a more opportune time.</p><p>'Pleasure doin' business with you, magey,' Sera grinned at him. 'Your payments are <em>so</em> much better than Bull's. You know he only gives me arrowheads? Useful, yeah. Not much fun, though.'</p><p>'Right, here we are,' said Calum, as he and Blackwall returned with four tankards each. 'What's this? Bull's gone off by himself? More for the rest of us, then...'</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Which leads quite nicely to <em><strong>Tableau the Third:</strong></em></p><p> </p><p>Though it was only the work of a moment, Dorian's newest plan was deployed at once: namely, get the inquisitor so inebriated that he either spills his secrets or is rendered unconscious, at which point Dorian would be free to search about his things. </p><p>...Which sounds <em>terrible</em>, but Dorian didn't mean for the man to get blackout drunk! Just drunk enough to sleep deeply, since the poor paranoid fellow was up at the first hint of noise when he was sober.  And of course Dorian would look after his amatus, once the morning brought its hangover to torment the hedonists of the world.  He would stay by Calum's side, ready to administer a witty barb (or syrupy word) as needed.</p><p>But that was the second part--the first being, that Dorian had to carefully monitor the inquisitor's condition, subtly encourage his drinking, all while remaining (relatively) sober yet not <em>appearing</em> to remain sober.  After all, Sera would loudly tease him, or worse--Blackwall would watch him with sharp, judging eyes, probably coming to his own conclusions about Dorian's nefarious intentions.  </p><p>And he would be right, for once!  The <em>nerve</em>.</p><p>Fortunately, Calum was full of questions this night, and made a game of poking and prodding Sera about the Red Jennies, tricking her into sharing a bit about her life before the inquisition--and really, was that so different to what Dorian was trying to do?  It was quite amusing, until she caught on and went off in a huff, with promises to <em>'prank your arse later, you friggin' piss-bag'</em>--a weighty threat, indeed, though Calum was the only person in Skyhold that Sera hadn't yet been able to get the better of.</p><p>The table was considerably quieter with her absence, and both Calum and Blackwall seemed happy to keep it that way, until being deeper in his cups likewise led to the warden being deeper in thought.  Once the dark cloud had settled round his head, Blackwall left the tavern, as well, ostensibly to give whatever it was he was agonising over his full attention.</p><p>'Poor ol' Blackwall,' Calum sighed once he was gone. 'Off to the stable to brood, I s'pose? Wish I could cheer him up a bit, poor sod.'</p><p>'Don't look at me,' said Dorian, slightly drunker than he'd intended to be. 'I'm not exactly what you'd call <em>comforting</em>.'</p><p>'Funny, then, that you make <em>me</em> feel so comfortable.' Calum winked at him, nudging his shoulder. 'Might be you've got some hidden talents that even you don't know about.'</p><p>'My talents aren't hidden; it's just that <em>some people</em> don't know how to appreciate them,' Dorian preened, nearly knocking over his drink in the process.  </p><p>'I appreciate them,' said Calum. He caught the tankard before it could spill and moved it to a much safer spot on the table, well away from perilous elbows. 'I appreciate <em>you</em>, Dorian. I just... want you to know that.  I appreciate you, and everything you've done for us, even if some at Skyhold don't realise it.'</p><p>Dorian looked away, wary of the gratitude in Calum's eyes, the sweetness of his smile. </p><p>'Well,' he blustered, 'it's not like I did it for them.  I'm just trying to seduce you, of course, the better to corrupt you with my foreign wiles.'</p><p>'Of course,' Calum agreed readily. 'I look forward to your foreign wiles especially.  Just... if anyone says shite about you, ignore 'em. 'Cause anyone who gets to know you knows you're not what they say you are. You're Dorian, and that's what we like best about you. What <em>I</em> like best about you.' </p><p>His hand on Dorian's arm was too warm, as were his fingertips, when they began ever so lightly tracing the bones on the back of Dorian's hand.  The sensation, the knowledge that they were in public, combined with the truly unfortunate amount of ale Dorian had swallowed--it was too much.  He was staring to feel terribly overwhelmed.</p><p>'Listen, Dorian, I...' Calum began hesitantly, the tone of his voice causing Dorian to inwardly quail in terror.  He knew that tone--he'd been through this before. Calum was going to say the four most <em>dreadful</em> words in the world, and then it would all be <em>over</em>, the small shred of happiness he'd found here in this frozen southern wasteland would be ripped away from him, and Dorian would be alone.</p><p>
  <em>He would always end up alone.</em>
</p><p>Dorian stood abruptly, letting Calum's hands fall away onto the slightly sticky table. </p><p>'I'm--I'm feeling quite unwell,' he announced, distantly surprised by how shaky his voice was. 'I think I've had a bit too much to drink. I'd better turn in before I fall over.'</p><p>Calum, bless him, fell quite naturally into the role of solicitous lover, offering Dorian his arm and an escort back to his room--an invitation to stay in the inquisitor's quarters, if he'd prefer, as well as numerous cups of cold water and various hangover cures.  Dorian turned them all away as a self-imposed punishment, and instead retreated to his frozen little chamber, where he was free to stare at the ceiling and be wretched.</p><p>Well and truly chastised by the oblivious inquisitor, Dorian found himself at a loss.  It was not something he was used to.  Aside from his personal charm and charisma, Dorian's mind had always been a faultless (well, <em>mostly</em> faultless) tool to get whatever it was he was after.  Information, naturally, but also influence, admiration, attention.  To be in such a position where all his usual <em>modi operandi</em> were useless to him was... disconcerting, to say the least.  It made him uncomfortably aware of just how much he used his mind and his mouth as crutches in the face of adversity--and how unequal he felt to facing adversity without them.</p><p>It meant, in short, that Dorian needed to learn what Varric called<em> life skills</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>Tableau the Fourth:</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>'Hey there, Sparkler,' Varric greeted him amiably from his usual place in the main hall. 'You, uh, feeling all right?'</p><p>He was most likely referring to the slightly sick look on Dorian's face--the result of having stood awkwardly in the doorway of the rotunda for fifteen minutes as dread filled his stomach and almost sent him fleeing back to the safety of the library.</p><p>But no--<em>no</em>, he had to do this.  He needed to do this.  For Calum, of course--but also for himself.</p><p>'It's this awful weather,' Dorian complained, aiming for levity. 'And the altitude is just terrible for my digestion.  I marvel at your hale and hearty self.  A result of that magnificent chest hair protecting your innards, perhaps?'</p><p>Varric laughed his excellent, throaty laugh and put his quill aside.</p><p>'All right, you got my attention.  What's going on?'</p><p>'Do you recall, I wonder, a conversation we had in the tavern before your friend Hawke left for Crestwood?'</p><p>A muscle in Varric's cheek twitched at the mention of the champion's name. 'Gonna need you to be a little more specific, there,' he said. 'We spent a lotta time in the tavern.'</p><p>'Quite right,' Dorian conceded to the odd tension. 'I was only remembering a story Hawke told, about how poorly her attempts to buy new furnishings for her ancestral home had gone before you came to her aid.  You said that she--'</p><p>'Could kill anything walking, but had no life skills,' Varric finished with a small, wistful smile. 'Yeah, I remember.  We were on the run from the city guard for a day and a half.' His chuckle was fond, almost tender, as memories played themselves before his eyes. 'I always thought she was the craziest human I'd ever meet, you know?  Despite our <em>beloved inquisitor's</em> attempts to prove me wrong.'</p><p>'He does seem determined in that regard, doesn't he,' Dorian groused, mostly to himself. 'But yes, that was what I wanted to discuss.  These... <em>life skills</em>.  What, exactly, <em>are</em> they?  How does one go about... <em>acquiring</em> them?'</p><p>Varric stared at him.</p><p>'Oh, come now,' Dorian said cajolingly. 'Surely you must be the expert, what with all your... worldly experience.'</p><p>'You calling me old, Sparkler?' asked Varric, arching an eyebrow.</p><p>'Venerable,' Dorian corrected him. 'Professorial.  Most learned--'</p><p>'Andraste's ass,' Varric laughed. 'All right, all right, cut it out.  So.  You wanna learn some life skills?  I'll help you get started.'</p><p>And <em>that</em> was how Dorian found himself standing awkwardly in the square of Redcliffe village, trying to ignore the stares of the locals as Varric gave him some last-minute coaching.</p><p>'All right, Sparkler, you know what to do,' Varric said encouragingly. 'Don't try to make it fancy, don't worry about wit or wordplay. Just go on up to her, and tell her what you want. Be direct and honest.'</p><p>'Right. Yes. Of course.' With one last anxious glance toward the docks, where Calum had presumably gone to pester the local fishermen about the ugliness of the day's catch, Dorian made his way to the small shack in which the local merchants were peddling their wares.</p><p>Direct and honest.  Surely he could manage that.</p><p>Inside the shack, several stands had been set up to display the merchants' wares to advantage: armour here, bits and bobs there, sundry weapons gleaming in the dusty gloom--all very bucolic and quaint and such.  Nothing to worry about.  Dorian approached the least threatening of the traders and cleared his throat.</p><p>'Can I help you? Would you like to trade?' the woman asked pleasantly.  Dorian resisted the urge to be sarcastic or flirtatious.</p><p>'Yes, I--that is, I am searching for a particular sort of staff blade--one about so long and yea wide. Commonly called an apostate blade, I believe. Do you have anything like that here?' He kept his face very still and his voice very flat. <em>No wit, no wordplay</em>.</p><p>'I'm... sure we've got a few of those,' the merchant said warily. 'Please, er...' She gestured to the laden surface before her.</p><p>'Oh! Right, yes. Of course.' Dorian cringed inwardly--he could have just browsed the display and found the damned thing himself!  What a dolt he must seem to this woman. 'Thank you... <em>ma'am</em>,' he added, in hopes of covering his mistake. </p><p>'N-no, that's--that's quite all right,' said the merchant, looking desperately at her colleagues. 'Perhaps you could--'</p><p>'Oi, why don't you piss off?' the other, more honest merchant sneered at him. 'You're bein' a menace, you are. Sod off, now!  We don't need coin from the likes of you.'</p><p>Whether it was Dorian's appearance, place of origin, or status as a mage that disturbed the merchants was anyone's guess--though it was equally likely to have been all three at once.  Disappointed but not surprised, Dorian nodded politely and hurried away before he was too tempted to ignore Varric's advice against threatening others in a foreign language, or otherwise using fireballs for anything but their intended purpose.  Specifically, killing demons and templars. </p><p>(<em>There's not much between 'em</em>, Calum had once jeered mid-battle, grinning that wolfish grin of his. Then he'd stabbed an arrow through the split in one of the templar's silly-looking helmets. Truly an inspiration to all.)</p><p>At least Dorian didn't have to explain his failure in detail; Varric was quite occupied with the schematic Calum was showing him--probably something for Bianca, of which (<em>of whom?</em>) Calum had become inordinately fond. </p><p>'You sure know how to treat a lady, Cal,' Varric was saying as Dorian approached them. 'Bianca thanks you--and so does my back. Hey, Sparkler, how'd it go?'</p><p>'It seems that I made myself... unwelcome to the locals.  Mostly by not being a local myself, you know how it is in these small towns,' Dorian said dismissively. 'I suppose I'll have to find another shopkeeper; perhaps someone in Crestwood, what with all the goodwill our dear inquisitor has garnered there.'  He turned to Calum with a wry little smile, expecting to hear a witty riposte from his amatus.</p><p>But Calum's face had gone deadly serious.</p><p>'Wait--those merchants wouldn't let you buy what you wanted? What, because you're from Tevinter? 'Cause you're a mage? Fuck that shite, I'll teach 'em a bloody lesson--' </p><p>'Slow down there, knight in shining leather,' said Varric, catching Calum by one elbow as Dorian grabbed for the other. 'I don't think beating the bigotry outta them will help your case. Like, at all.'</p><p>Calum exhaled hard, nostrils flaring. 'They can't just do that, those fucking pricks! What, they're too good for our fuckin' money?'</p><p>'Only for mine,' Dorian corrected him. 'And to that, their point was made quite clear. It's of no consequence, really. I didn't need it, anyway, it was just...'</p><p>'That doesn't matter,' said Calum, fire in his eyes. 'It's the principle of it! They're refusing you service because of who you are! It's unjust!'</p><p>'Yeah, let's, uh... let's quit while we're ahead, all right, Cal? They're bastards, end of story. We won't shop here anymore. Plenty of merchants out there who'll be more than happy to take our coin.' Varric patted him on the arm. 'I know it's bullshit, but there's nothing we can do right now. And it would cause a diplomatic disaster for Josephine if the damn inquisitor himself beat the shit outta some Ferelden merchants 'cause they snubbed his friend the foreigner. No offense, Dorian.'</p><p>'Offence slightly taken,' said Dorian. 'But I forgive you out of the goodness of my heart.'</p><p>'Gee, <em>thanks</em>,' said Varric, rolling his eyes. 'Ruffles has enough on her plate. We don't need to add to that, you know? And the Seeker is always looking for a reason to bite our heads off. It's just a whole lotta trouble for something we can't fix. Not here. Not now. Like I always tell ya, kid, we gotta live to fight another day.'</p><p>Calum, whose shoulders had been slowly descending from their journey up toward his ears, eventually found it in himself to nod curtly.</p><p>'Fine,' he said, unusually subdued. 'Fine. Thanks for talking me down again, Varric. There's... there's nothing to be done right now.' He reached over and passed his hand lightly over Dorian's shoulder, as if to offer comfort in a way that wouldn't be too intrusive or overly familiar. </p><p><em>Sweet boy</em>, Dorian thought. <em>A bit stupid, but very sweet.</em></p><p>'I'm just--gonna go for a quick walk-about, aye? Meet you at the gate in a bit. Need to clear me head first.'</p><p>'You got it, boss,' Varric said with a jaunty salute. 'Come on, Sparkler, let's go make sure the local kids aren't climbing the nuggalope's horns again.'</p><p>Dorian, though he wanted very much to stay by Calum's side, nodded and followed Varric back through Redcliffe village.</p><p>'Ok, so, that was a bust,' Varric said philosophically. 'But you get the basic idea. You just say what you wanna say, and if it goes to shit, well--at least you tried. At least you had the balls to <em>try</em>, unlike some people, who wallow in indecision for ten years because their deep-seated insecurities keep them from actually doing something and moving on with their fucking lives. Anyway! We could try again someplace else, if you want. Val Royaux, maybe?'</p><p>'Er,' said Dorian, slightly concerned about his dwarven companion. 'I... suppose so. Are you quite all right, Varric?'</p><p>'Me? Oh, sure! Never better! Like I said, communication is the most important life skill there is, especially if you're the kind of guy who does a lotta talking. Being able to talk a lot while saying nothing is a luxury--a party trick, meant to entertain, distract, buy time for daring escapes, that sorta thing. Being able to say something important with just a couple of words when it really matters? <em>That's</em> a necessity. Something you might not find out until it's too late.' </p><p>Varric's false cheer faded, and he stared at the worn dirt path beneath their feet. 'Don't be like me, Sparkler. Just... just tell him, ok? 'Cause you'll always regret it more if you don't.'</p><p>'I see,' said Dorian, even though he almost certainly did not. 'I... appreciate the advice, you know. The south is... not quite what I'd imagined. Rather different, in fact. Perhaps... perhaps I could be different, too. If I wanted. If I learnt how.'</p><p>'Yeah,' said Varric, as he watched some of the village children playing near the gate.  He smiled wistfully at one of them--a little girl with red paint smeared across her nose, who was imperiously ordering the others to help her fight off the dragons before they ate all the miners. 'Yeah, I bet you could.'</p><p>He shifted Bianca on his shoulder, as if her weight had suddenly increased. But before Dorian could say anything, Calum caught up with them, looking as though conversation would be... unwelcome.  </p><p>The way back to camp was very, very quiet.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It occurred to Dorian, at long last, that the most expedient way of getting what he wanted (besides directly asking, of course) was to offer something first.  A secret for a secret--a confidence for a confidence.  Like two-way blackmail.  Mutual extortion, but in a friendly manner.</p><p>If he were to simply share something personal, himself, it would no doubt encourage Calum to do likewise.  And even if what Calum shared was not what Dorian was after (though how he would know if it was what he was after was rather another issue...), well, it wasn't as though Dorian didn't have a hundred little things locked away, some of which would no doubt be safer in Calum's possession that in anyone else's.  And really, what's a bet without any risk?  Dorian was more than willing to be reckless and occasionally self-destructive.  He was nothing if not adaptable.  </p><p>And brilliant.  And handsome.  And charming.</p><p>Digression aside, Dorian's latest plan was a relatively simple one: all he had to do was wait till a nasty recurring dream woke him in the wee hours of the night, and then go to the inquisitor's quarters in search of consolation.  The soft-hearted fool would have no recourse but to pet him and murmur soothing words until such a time as he felt compelled to ask some variation of <em>do ye want tae talk aboot it?</em> and all Dorian would have to do was say <em>yes</em>.</p><p>Fortunately, the threat of the Four Worst Words had been momentarily delayed, as Calum was too decent to break Dorian's heart on anything other than neutral ground with sufficient clamour about them to muffle their words and help chins to remain up and lips to remain stiff--the better to avoid public humiliation, and all that.  Dorian could therefore focus solely on his latest plan, and leave the other, more malignant problem for his future self to solve.</p><p>Onward, then.</p><p>It only took a few days of not effectively compartmentalising certain painful memories of his father for Dorian to fairly launch himself from his bed one night, heart racing and clothes drenched in cold sweat.  A quick wardrobe change, then, a splash of water on his face and settling of his hair, and Dorian was off, delving into the dark halls of Skyhold to seek his amatus.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>Tableau the Fifth:</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As has been previously established, the inquisitor was a notoriously light sleeper.  He was the favoured choice for keeping watch when they camped out in the field because of his being almost preternaturally alert and aware of his surroundings--that, no doubt a result of his superior skill as an archer and hunter.  (Not that Dorian was at all biased.  He was <em>not</em>.)</p><p>It was for this reason that Dorian was not particularly surprised to find Calum already awake despite his futile attempt at stealthiness.</p><p>'Dorian?' Calum called before he had even reached the top of the stairs. 'All right?' </p><p>He'd dragged the sofa in front of the fireplace, and judging by the way he was stifling a yawn, must have dozed off while playing one of his dearly-loved instruments.  The result of his own bad dreams, perhaps, or else just his determination to never pass a day without any music.</p><p>All at once, Dorian felt rather guilty.  Here he was, scheming away, while his poor amatus was only trying to rest.  Perhaps he should have listened to Varric, after all.  Uncertainty welled up inside of him, and he considered leaving straight away.</p><p>It must have shown on his face; Calum <em>tsked</em>, carefully placed his harp back in its travelling satchel, and beckoned Dorian over.</p><p>'Poor lad, you look done in. Come sit with me. D'ye wanna talk about it?'</p><p>Dorian smiled to himself, just a little. He usurped the harp's place on the sofa, and let himself be drawn close to the inquisitor by a warm, wiry arm.  Calum leaned his head against Dorian's, and Dorian felt his eyes close of their own volition.</p><p>When they sat together like this, he was... content.  He was free to be himself.  He was safe, he was warm, he was adored--he was happy.  </p><p>
  <em>He had no right to be this happy.</em>
</p><p>Dorian shivered and opened his eyes once more. 'I... struggle, sometimes,' he forced himself to say. 'With old memories.'</p><p>'Aye, don't we all,' Calum sighed. 'Especially at night. When it's so quiet you can hear your own thoughts. The bad ones, I mean.'</p><p>'Yes. I... I have far too many of those. Bad thoughts.' Dorian swallowed hard. 'Terrible thoughts. More of them than I like to admit.'</p><p>'Och, my darling,' Calum said softly, so softly that Dorian could pretend not to hear it, if he wanted.  He was considerate that way, the dear, misguided fellow.  It made Dorian's chest constrict too tight, too tight.</p><p>'Go on, then. Tell me what ails you. I'll make it right, or die trying.'</p><p>'You will <em>not</em>,' Dorian said sternly, hand closing about Calum's wrist like a vise. 'You are hereby forbidden to die, Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan. Do not even <em>try</em> to argue with me.'</p><p>'Argue with you?' Calum feigned shock. 'Would I ever do such a thing?'</p><p>Dorian glared at him in response, but it only made Calum laugh.</p><p>'All right, all right,' he gave in, when the glare became a scowl. 'I'm sorry, I'll be good now, I swear.'</p><p>'You'll have to excuse me if I have a hard time believing you.'</p><p>'I mean it! I'll behave. Here, I'll sit ever so quiet while you tell me what's the trouble. Then I'll go off in a huff and try to thrash whatever it is. And if I fail, you get to patch me up after, and then we drink. How's that?'</p><p>'Not bad,' Dorian mused. 'But that sort of thing needs time to enact properly. We'll save it for another day--perhaps one of the visiting nobles will insult me, and you'll need to defend my honour.'</p><p>'An excellent plan,' Calum agreed. 'One I expect we'll see through before the week's out. Till then, I'll lend you my shoulders for crying and my ears for listening. Make what use of them you will.'</p><p>Dorian smiled in spite of himself. Calum really was far too good at making him do that. </p><p>Calum was too good at a lot of things, really. Even now, slightly dishevelled from sleep, his eyes were keen and discerning. Normally, he wore most of his hair in a jaunty tail at the back of his head, with the shorter locks in the front left to frame his face and soften the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. But he'd untied it to sleep, so it fell dark and loose about his head, the uneven ends just brushing his collarbones. His 'roguish stubble', as he called it, was on its way to becoming a true beard, which meant that he would be trimming it soon.  Dorian liked to watch, if for no other reason than knowing, as he did, that only <em>he</em> had that particular privilege, just as only <em>he</em> was permitted to share Calum's tent, to know Calum's secret methods of acquiring his own provisions. </p><p>He didn't know the origins of those peculiarities, and some of them were admittedly, well, <em>peculiar</em>. But that Calum thought so much of him as to be willing, in his own way, to let Dorian see them--to see the cracks in his carefree facade, the puncture wounds in his leather armour, as it were...</p><p>Suddenly, Dorian had an idea of what Varric had been talking about back in Redcliffe. He tucked the revelation away as quickly as it came. Another crisis for another night.</p><p>'I dreamt about my father,' Dorian said, so that he wouldn't say anything else. 'I told you, of course, that he wanted to... change me.'</p><p>Calum frowned in sympathy. 'With a ritual. Aye.'</p><p>'Yes. I didn't tell you, though, how near a thing it was. How close he came to actually... going through with it.' Dorian watched the light of the fire playing along the stained-glass windows, still open despite the lateness of the hour.  They depicted the phases of the moon--some heathen pattern that Calum fancied, no doubt. He always fancied such things--old things, ancient things, Avvar things and Chasind things, legends and magic and heroes of old--</p><p>'Dorian?' Calum's voice cut through the fog of the distracting thoughts Dorian used to keep himself in the present and avoid becoming lost in more... <em>unsavoury</em> memories. For the best, really; it was a habit better kept to himself. 'Are you all right?'</p><p>'...I'm fine,' said Dorian. 'I... it doesn't matter. It's over now. I got away. It was a narrow escape, but I got away.'</p><p>'You did,' said Calum. 'And I'm so very glad for it.'</p><p>The fire crackled loudly. A log split in half, engulfed in flames. The silence swelled painfully in Dorian's ears.</p><p>'Why,' Dorian heard himself ask faintly, 'why would he...?' He felt his throat closing in on itself.</p><p>Calum, despite his gift for gabbing, had no tales to spin now.</p><p>'I don't know,' he said, softly, honestly. 'I don't know how he could look at you and not see what I see. You're so fucking brave, Dorian.'</p><p>'But it wasn't enough, was it.' It was not a question, and so Dorian did not make it sound like one. 'What I am or what I was--it wasn't enough for him. It was never enough for him. <em>I</em> was never enough for him.'</p><p>Calum held him tighter. Dorian tilted his head back to look into his clear blue eyes, to search for answers there.</p><p>'How could I not be enough? How could a person not be... <em>enough</em>?'</p><p>'You <em>are</em> enough,' Calum said fiercely. 'You're enough for <em>me</em>, and you always will be. No matter what happens. You could never disappoint me, d'ye hear me? 'Cause I'm proud of you, Dorian. I am so fucking <em>proud</em> of you.'</p><p>Dorian's vision went rather blurry--really, it was a wonder he still bothered painting his eyes with kohl at all, since Calum seemed intent to make him cry it all off at least once every other fortnight--and it took more effort than usual to keep his breathing steady.  Where had all his composure gone?  Had he lost the ability to maintain a mask of aristocratic indifference so quickly?</p><p>'You can't just <em>say</em> things like that,' he scolded, blinking the tears away. 'Look at this--I'm ruined, and it's all your fault. Quite unfair of you.'</p><p>'You're not ruined,' said Calum, with an odd, pained smile. 'You're not. You're lovely.' </p><p>He smoothed back Dorian's hair, fixed the collar of Dorian's robe where it had gotten all bunched up in his haste to dress. Dorian hadn't even noticed.</p><p>'There you go, handsome lad. All fine and fetching, aren't you? Whether you're done up in all your trimmings or no.' Calum's smile wobbled a bit, then finally collapsed. 'Listen, I--I've got to tell you something. I meant to sooner, but it never seemed the right time, and I--well, I suppose I got a wee bit caught up in, well, in <em>us</em>, you know, and then I felt quite terrible for not having said anything sooner--like, what if you were hurt that I kept it to myself, or you thought I was mad or something, I dunno, but--'</p><p>Dorian gently put a finger to Calum's lips, mostly just to enjoy the sight of the inquisitor pouting and projecting a very loud <em>I hate it when you do that</em> with his eyes. (It was telling, though, that he never actually caught Dorian's hand to stop him, despite the fact that they both knew he very well <em>could</em>.)</p><p>'Amatus,' Dorian said softly, fondly. 'Whatever it is... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I shouldn't have been so obsessed with sussing out all your secrets. You've been nothing but good to me, and I repaid it with suspicion and--'</p><p>'So you <em>had</em> been suspicious?' Calum asked, gently moving Dorian's hand from his mouth so he could speak. 'Fuck me. I'm sorry, Dorian, I didn't mean to make you doubt me...'</p><p>'I didn't doubt you,' said Dorian. 'Just--I was rather curious, that's all. It's a curse of mine. I should have resisted the temptation and returned the note right away; it was none of my business.'</p><p>Calum looked at him quizzically. 'Wait... what note are you talking about?'</p><p>'The one from--oh, a couple weeks ago, I suppose. <em>Kaffas</em>--I must have left it in my other robe's pocket. You were writing quite furiously that evening, and when you covered it up and hid it from me, I admit I was a bit... hasty, in my assumptions. And then, when I couldn't read it...' </p><p>Understanding dawned on Calum's face, before immediately being replaced by a teasing grin. 'Wait... did you think I were writing love notes to someone else? Havin' it off with someone here at Skyhold? Who did ye suspect--was it Flissa? Minaeve? Merchant Belle from Val Royaux? Maybe you thought it were Harritt, or the Iron Bull, or Solas--though I totally <em>would</em> shag Solas, if that were the way he went--'</p><p>'Wh--<em>Solas</em>?' Dorian demanded, appalled. 'Solas? Are you <em>serious</em>?'</p><p>Calum shrugged, smirking roguishly. 'What? You know better than anyone that I fancy clever men. I can't help it; it's why I hang all over Varric, loudly opining his long-captured heart. Besides, it's always good for fellow bards to swap stories and--'</p><p>'<em>And other things</em>, yes, I know.' Dorian rolled his eyes. 'You're the very <em>height</em> of wit, inquisitor. But to answer your question, no, I did not suspect you of sleeping with Solas, Flissa, or anyone else. Aside from me, of course.'</p><p>'Of course.'</p><p>'All it was,' said Dorian, softening into honesty, 'was my own compulsion to solve a riddle. You were behaving enigmatically, and I wanted to figure out why without letting you know, in case... in case you were...' He trailed off, still too wary of breaking the fragile new thing they shared.</p><p>'In case I was getting bored of you,' Calum finished for him, face falling. 'Och, Dorian. I told you I wouldn't do that to you, and I meant it. I'm stupid, aye, but not so stupid that I don't realise how bloody lucky I am that you chose me. Over everyone else in the whole world, you chose <em>me</em>, a glorified country lad with a flighty disposition and a penchant for general debauchery. I am the luckiest bastard in Thedas, and I well know it. I won't waste our time together, 'cause I know what it's worth. I promise you that.'</p><p>He held Dorian's hand formally, gallantly, like he would if they two were a pair of petty nobles meeting at a dull soirée hosted by someone's match-making dowager aunt.</p><p>'I don't often make promises,' said Calum, with a self-deprecating smile. 'You know me--too roguish by far to be overly concerned with the truth, most of the time. But once I've made a promise, I keep it. Forever.'</p><p>'Forever?' Dorian tried not to be flattered, and failed miserably. 'Even to the death?'</p><p>'To the death, and beyond. I'm a scoundrel, but a loyal one.'</p><p>'A happy coincidence, that,' said Dorian. He leaned fractionally closer to Calum. 'Loyalty being... one of the many qualities we both value.'</p><p>'Aye,' said Calum, staring intently at Dorian's lips. 'Loyalty, quick wit, an appreciation of the arts...' He reached up and held Dorian's face between his hands, tilting his head ever so slightly.</p><p>'Among other things...' Dorian murmured dreamily, closing his eyes. He basked in the warmth of Calum's body, the intense <em>pull</em> that seemed determined to bring them together, a force too deep-rooted, too insistent to ignore--</p><p>There was a burst of light outside on the balcony, and then a woman's voice sang out, <em>'Chaluim, a rùin!'</em></p><p>Calum sprang up from his seat, leaving Dorian quite disgruntled and alone on the sofa, to greet the interloper at the balcony door.</p><p>'If it ain't Miss Jessie herself!' He laughed brightly, holding out his arms to the cloaked woman. </p><p>She did not hesitate; they met in a fond embrace, Calum fairly swinging her off her feet in his joy. Dorian allowed them a few moments before pointedly clearing his throat and <em>more</em> pointedly asking,</p><p>'And <em>who</em>, exactly, might <em>you</em> be?'</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>'Your <em>sister</em>,' Dorian repeated for the seventeenth time, quite as dumb-founded as the sixteen previous occasions.</p><p>'Aye, my elder sister, Jessie.' Calum had his arm around his precipitously-arrived sibling's shoulders.  </p><p>At first glance, there wasn't terribly much resemblance between them; where Calum's hair was a dark but decided brown, Jessie's was the rich colour of red wine, and her features, though similarly high-born, were much less sharp.  Her lightweight black leather armour and deep green plaidewoven cloak rather gave her the aspect of a confused assassin with an imperfect understanding of how forest camouflage was meant to work. She carried no staff, but she was most certainly a mage--Dorian could feel the Fade shifting when she'd arrived, could sense the magic emanating from the pendant round her neck.</p><p>Despite her odd appearance, however, Jessie offered a kind, if sheepish smile. 'I'm so sorry for the fright. I didn't mean to interrupt you--if I'd known you had a guest, little brother...'</p><p>'Och, you couldn't have known, Jess,' Calum assured her. 'And it's not like you would've come in through the door.'</p><p>Calum was referring, no doubt, to his sister's somewhat... <em>unorthodox</em> method of arrival. </p><p>Namely, that she had transformed herself into a blackbird and quite literally <em>flown into Skyhold.</em></p><p>'It's an unusual skill, to be sure,' said Jessie. 'Nobody would expect it--indeed that's part of the reason I've dedicated so much study to shape-shifting in general, and avian species in particular. It serves a purpose... though I won't say that I don't enjoy the thrill of it, as well.' She smiled at her brother, eyes crinkling in the corners just the same as Calum's did when he was really amused by something. 'I'm just glad that you're a mage, yourself, Dorian, or else I might have been in a spot of trouble.'</p><p>'As if I'd ever let anyone hurt you,' Calum scoffed. 'Or have bad enough taste to be together with someone who'd hate my sister. I'd sooner snog a templar.' He pulled a ridiculous face to make it obvious exactly what he thought of that.</p><p>'I know you wouldn't, wee dove. You've always been my favourite brother,' said Jessie, fondly pinching his cheek. 'When we were children,' she confided to Dorian, 'He used to copy everything I did. Anywhere I went, there was my little Calum toddling after me--studying with tutors, helping our elder brother in the stable, having a dance lesson... he even took up embroidery with me, and was a fair hand at it, too, considering his age--'</p><p>'Stop, <em>please stop</em>,' Calum begged, covering his face with his hands. 'I thought we agreed to <em>never</em> speak of that again. Maker's tits, this is fucking embarrassing...'</p><p>Jessie laughed at him, her eyes dancing with mischief--a shining seafoam-green to contrast her brother's summer-sky-blue. Their smiles, however, were wonderfully similar: bright, warm, and effortlessly charming. What she lacked in height, compared to him, Jessie made up for with a noticeable presence, one that was quite compelling even if it didn't have the performer's flair that Calum so meticulously cultivated in himself.</p><p>'I can't believe you were writing to your sister,' Dorian marvelled. 'Why <em>did</em> you write to her, incidentally? Are you that worried by what the Champion said?'</p><p>'I'm pretty fucking worried,' Calum admitted. 'Hawke took me aside, before we left the Approach, and... well, you know I don't give two shites about the moral quandaries regarding mages using their own blood for magicky stuff, but stealing other people's blood? Using their bodies, coercing them into it, scarin' them into thinking the fuckin' world's about to end and they only have one way to stop it? That's utterly fucked. Cullen wants to put a seige on Adamant--an <em>entire seige</em>, the mad bastard! I don't know <em>what</em> the Wardens can be thinking, to go along with Erimond's daft plans, but I don't want to kill 'em all, if there's another way.' He shrugged, nodding toward his sister. 'I may be no magical expert, but I do know someone who is--and who specialises in things forbidden by the chantry and shunned by polite society.'</p><p>'You might have just said so,' Dorian pointed out logically. 'Surely your advisors wouldn't turn away the help, wherever it came from.'</p><p>'I know I could've said, but...' Calum looked at Jessie helplessly. 'I just... I didn't want Leliana to track her down. She's probably found out about me, already, but... I <em>had</em> wanted to keep Jessie out of it. Fool's hope, I suppose. Anyway, I know Leliana screens my correspondence, so when I wrote to Jessie, I used an older dialect from home in hopes of slowing her down a bit with a language barrier. Nae disrespect to Sister Nightingale, of course, but I don't trust her as I trust you, and...'</p><p>'And if my brother trusts you,' said Jessie, 'then I do, as well--enough to give you the truth. A bit more than a year ago, after the Gallows had fallen, we mages got together and drew up our own treatise that declared ourselves rational, free people and called on the templars let us go peacefully--much like the Ferelden mages had at Kinloch Hold. The templars repaid our candour by appealing to the Divine for permission to go through with the Rite of Annulment. I tried to talk to them--the Knight-Commander, the Knight-Captain... the First Enchanter. None of them would listen to me--they weren't even going to wait for the Divine's approval. They were going to kill us all, and I... I didn't want to die. So... I fought back. And many of my friends and fellows from the tower joined me. We had nothing left to lose. We fought the templars, we fought some <em>mages</em>, and with Calum's help, we sailed to the mainland and escaped into the woods. Since then, our group have mostly been in hiding. It's a hard life, scraping to get by, but it's <em>ours</em>, and we look after our own, mage and tranquil alike. We never wanted war--we just want to <em>live</em>. If this is the only way, then... so be it.'</p><p>'You're a <em>bona fide</em> rebel, then,' said Dorian, rather impressed. 'Goodness. We must set you up for tea with Fiona.'</p><p>'The Grand Enchanter? Is she here? I'd heard the rebel mages had joined the inquisition, though I wasn't sure to what extent they had joined as much as been... em, <em>swallowed</em>. Not that I doubt my brother's dedication to our cause--and of course I was so proud to hear that he'd been made inquisitor,' Jessie smiled at her brother affectionately, 'but I know that he isn't the <em>only</em> person in the inquisition with power, and that there are other... considerations that must sometimes be made.'</p><p>'<em>Our</em> cause?' Dorian repeated, taking note of that particular pronoun.</p><p>'Aye, that's what I've been meaning to tell you,' said Calum, looking very much as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 'I'd left home years before, but when the circles fell I dropped everything and hurried back to Ostwick, terrified of what I would find. I already knew first-hand how cruel the templars were--what if I found my sister's body, mangled or burned beyond recognition, her head on a pike? Or worse--what if I never found her at all? What if there was nothing left <em>to</em> find? I rode a horse nearly to death on my way to the harbour, where I stole a fishing boat to sail to the tower island. Imagine my surprise when I docked and saw my Jessie, the wind tossing her hair round her head like a bloody banner, rallying the other mages with a cry for freedom, for justice. She set their hearts aflame with her passion, and I never was more proud of her.'</p><p>'Och, Calum...' Jessie looked quite moved, and reached for her brother's hand.</p><p>'It's true--I saw you up there, robes torn and blood on your face, fire blazing behind you, and for a moment I almost understood why chantry folk are always goin' on about Andraste. I saw you, and I believed that you could change the world--and I wanted to help you.' </p><p>Calum smiled at her and squeezed her hand, before turning back to Dorian.</p><p>'Anyway, that's the <em>real</em> reason I ended up at the Conclave. I told everyone that I'd been sent by my father for chantry-related shite, but that was a lie. After a year of being part of a rebel cell that was constantly on the verge of annihilation by a bunch of frothing zealots who'd been let off their leashes, it seemed a <em>bit</em> stupid to let our leader go into enemy territory blind--or at all, really, but Jessie was adamant that we do <em>something</em> in case it were all a great trap for the mages. So I offered to go in her stead--I'd sneak into the Conclave, scout the place, and--if things went to shite--help as many mages as possible escape the chantry's clutches. But, em... well, you know how <em>that</em> turned out.'</p><p>He gestured vaguely around him, perhaps meaning to encompass the entirety of the inquisition in one single motion.</p><p>'<em>That's</em> what you were trying to tell me in the tavern?' Dorian felt a bit foolish. 'I... well, I suppose I expected the tired old "it's been fun" talk, and...'</p><p>'And I was expecting you'd be cross with me for not coming clean sooner,' Calum admitted, laughing at himself. 'We're a fine pair of fuckin' idiots, aren't we?'</p><p>'Speak for yourself. It was well-founded caution.'</p><p>'I could say the same!'</p><p>'You <em>could</em>, but you would be wrong.'</p><p>'I think that's a hint to take my leave for the night!' Jessie announced, clasping her hands together in front of her. 'I'll find myself a nice place to roost awhile, and we'll get to work in the morning.'</p><p>'Try the stable,' Calum suggested. 'Right cosy in there, usually a fire going, as well. Just mind you don't get stuck by Master Dennet's pitchfork...' He frowned, absently rubbing his arm.</p><p>'I will, thank you,' said Jessie. She pulled Calum's head down toward herself by the ears so she could bestow a sisterly kiss upon his forehead. 'Good night, wee dove. I'm so happy to be together again.' She turned to Dorian, and smiled quite warmly. 'And it was lovely to meet you, Dorian. I'm glad my brother has someone looking after him. Sweet dreams to ye both.'</p><p>And with that, she transformed in a flash of Fade and a whirl of ghostly feathers into a blackbird once more.</p><p>'Sleep tight! Don't let the bed-nugs bite!' Calum waved at her, watching her leave before closing the windows.</p><p>And then, he and Dorian were alone again.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>Tableau the Sixth:</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Picture (though not <em>too</em> vividly, of course) the very foolish inquisitor and the <em>occasionally</em> short-sighted rebellious archivist back in their rightful places at last--tucked up together in Calum's obscenely large bed, itself a souvenir of his second trip to Val Royaux. (After all, it was rather easier to shop when one was not at risk of being torn apart by a mob of old ladies.) Said obscene bed was rendered even <em>more</em> obscene by the deliciously warm fur that adorned it--a bear pelt of excellent quality, the work of no less than the inquisitor himself, who had hunted, felled, and skinned the beast so skilfully, it could probably bring a tear to the eye of the most seasoned trapper.  Certainly a conversation starter, as well as a useful spring-board for when Calum felt like bragging, which was often.  Besides, it was the only thing in the room that Calum had chosen for himself; as such, Dorian felt obliged to like it all the more, austere surroundings notwithstanding.</p><p>'I can't believe you managed to live up to the bardic stereotype of being a musical spy,' he said, though softly, since he and his amatus lay face to face, nearly nose to nose in the half-darkness of the room.  The moonlight reflecting off the snow-covered mountains provided just light enough for him to see the blue of Calum's eye--the one that <em>wasn't</em> on the side of his face that had sunken into the overly-stuffed pillows littering the headboard, anyway.</p><p>'That's the best bit, though,' Calum said with a chuckle. 'I don't look like a spy at all, and that's exactly why I got away with it. I'm sure Leliana knew from the start--we bards can sniff one another out, ye know--but before the inquisition, when I'd go into town on supply runs for the others, and try to pick up gossip or earn a little coin along the way, nobody suspected a fuckin' thing.'</p><p>'I see that you, too, are a man of many talents, and I approve.' Dorian hesitated, wanting to know, yet wary of overstepping.  But then he thought of Varric, and decided to take a chance. 'I can only hope that your sister will be able to say the same, with regards to... that is, er. That she'll approve of your choice of lover, I mean.'</p><p>Calum's visible eye crinkled happily.</p><p>'No worries about that, now. Jessie liked you very much. I can tell, 'cause she didnae set you on fire. Always a good sign.' Here Dorian introduced a stray pillow to his face, in order to show Calum the error of his ways. The ensuing skirmish lasted about a moment before the duly defeated inquisitor surrendered through muffled laughter. 'All right, <em>all right</em>, you win! I'm only teasing you, I swear. Listen, I'm--I'm right glad you've met each other. Actually, I... I hope the pair of you will get on well. That maybe you might be friends someday. If you both wanted.'</p><p>'I'd like that,' said Dorian, partly because it was true, and partly so he could watch the genuine smile bloom on Calum's face.  </p><p>He was not disappointed.  He was, however, subjected to a bone-crushing hug, during which Calum whispered a very quiet, very sincere, '<em>Thank you</em>,' into his ear.  Mussed hair aside, Dorian was quite certain that he did not mind.</p><p>He was quite certain, in fact, that as far as lovers went, his was a pretty good one, in spite of it all.  The world might have been ending, but if it didn't--if there were to be many future nights wherein he would be held closely, kissed most affectionately, soothed by the vibration of Calum's voice in his chest and lulled into Fade-less dreams by an intimate and sleepy rendition of his favourite <em>'salm'</em> of the sea...</p><p>Yes, Dorian was certain that he rather liked this change in his life.  He was certain that he could get used to this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">Translate-y bits:</span>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/><span class="small"><i>Sguir dheth</i> means 'Stop it!'</span></p><p>  <span class="small"><i>Ach</i> means 'but', while <i>Och</i> is just like a vocable filler sort of thing, i guess, similar to 'oh!' but a bit more versatile. like if your friend Anna said 'isn't your brother a <i>pìos</i>!' (a 'hunk' lol) you might go 'Och, Anna!', things like that</span></p><p>  <span class="small"><i>Chaluim, a rùin</i> means 'My darling Calum'. It's from a song called <i>Do Chalum</i>, a poignant lament about a brother lost too soon. </span></p><p>  <span class="small">Jessie's name (and Calum's nickname for her 'Miss Jessie') is a reference to a song called <i>Òran Do Sheasaidh Bhaile Raghnaill</i> (or <i>An T-Aparan Goirid 's An T-Aparan Ùr</i>, i've seen both used) about a rather independent young woman who goes across the sea instead of marrying a fella called Cooper (he might have been a prick idk). <i>Seasaidh</i> is the Gàidhlig form of 'Jessie', and is a nickname for someone called <i>Sìne</i> (or Jean).<br/></span></p><p>  <span class="small"><i>Salm</i> means 'psalm', it's a reference to <i>Salm na Mara</i> ('Psalm of the Sea') from a show i loved <span class="small"><strike>it's the song Calum sang in the cave for Cassandra in my other fic but i didn't mention it in case it was tacky to name-drop or if using other languages wasn't a Thing We Do here ha ha</strike></span></span><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>